The Song of Storms:  A Bard's Tale
by The Storyteller of Nexus
Summary: Long before the Hero of Time wielded the Sword of Evil's Bane, a bard sought to unlock the secrets of magic through song, and would change Hyrule forever.  Listen to the Song, Heed the Song-of-Storms.  Chapter 2: An ominous wind is visited upon the Bard.
1. Call the Storm

The Song of Storms

By the Storyteller of Nexus

Chapter 1: Call the Storm

Call the storm

Call the rain

Gently coming down again

Listen to my song

Heed the Song of Storms

Hide the Sun

From this plane

Cleanse the land of its stain

Listen to the Song

Of Storms

-_First verse of The Song of Storms, as composed by The Bard_

In the land of Hyrule, it is impossible to divorce magic and song. Some believe that all forms of magic are echoes of the unknowable music of the Gods. Likewise, a harmonious melody stirs the soul in a way to inspire the supernatural. This is why often the most respected magicians in Hyrule serve as the court composers of the royal family. Their studies on the secrets of song have given them knowledge on teleportation, animal husbandry, and even limited control of time itself.

However, all magicians and composers alike pay their respects to a mythic hero of Hyrule, predating the lineage of the Hero of Time. This man is simply known as the Bard. Some believe he was the first to divine sorcery from song, while others preach that his songs so impressed the Gods, they granted him power through his music.

This is his story.

In a time before the Hyrulean royal family seized control of the land, the Hylian people lived in fear and awe of the natural world. Some wandered, following herds of great beasts in their migrations. Others banded together in small communities, seeking to tame the land and harvest its fruits.

One band settled in a valley north of the great planes of central Hyrule. Here they built strong, sturdy homes, and planted crops to feed themselves and their livestock. For a time, these people prospered, and life was good. But as the years passed, the weather became less predictable, and harvests were lost to both torrential downpour and arid droughts.

While contemplating the unpredictable wrath of nature, a young man strummed his harp in the field. He was so lost in the sound of his playing that he had not noticed the storm clouds coming in. Thunder clapped over the fields, and shook the man from his trance. As he ran back to his village, he listened to the howl of the wind and rhythm of the rainfall. However vaguely, the man registered a pattern, an almost melody to the noise. For the rest of the day, he concealed himself in his home, trying to unearth the song from the noise of the storm.

This man was of course the legendary Bard, although at this time he was little more than a simple musician. Given the harsh nature of the land, musical skill was not seen to be nearly as important as the ability to plow a field, or chop down lumber. But the Bard was unique in his skill with song, and sought mastery over his craft. The other members of his village did not understand his obsession, and believed he was foolish to pursue such a silly path in such troubled times, but the Bard was a man of great passion, and he would not be dissuaded from his work.

By evening, the Bard had worked out a simple, wordless tune. As he played, the storm dissipated, and for an instant, the sun came out. Then a forceful knock pounded the door of the Bard's home. The Bard stood up to open the door.

As soon as he turned the knob, a great wind blew the door open. Standing in the door was a feminine figure, garbed in billowing gray robes. Swirling around her was a mist that continued to rain. Her hair was icy-blue, and her skin very pale. She wore a stern expression on her face, and seemed to radiate an unworldly power. She looked directly at the Bard.

"May I come in, sir?" she said, sounding remarkably airy for someone so grim looking.

The Bard had to take a second to register what he was seeing, and only then could he stammer out, "Y-yes, of course..."

The woman nodded graciously as she stepped into his home. The raining gray mist held for a moment, and then absorbed into the woman, stopping the rain. She took a seat at the Bard's table.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" offered the Bard. He rarely had guests, especially one so strange as this. However, he believed the proper manners should still be observed.

"Yes, that would be lovely," replied the mysterious woman.

Without speaking further, the Bard began boiling water. When the tea was ready, he poured a cup for himself and one for his guest, then worked up the nerve to speak.

"Excuse me, but why have you come to visit me?"

The woman looked vacant for a moment, then said, "I heard your song. It felt good to hear, like it was the music I have heard my whole life, but have only begun to understand... Will you... play it again for me, please?"

The Bard hesitated, then picked up his harp, and strummed the melody he had created. As he played, the woman's eyes widened, and the room darkened as the mist returned around her. Gusts of wind came from nowhere in particular, and blew over objects throughout the room. As rain began to fall within his home, the Bard ended his song. He turned to address his guest.

"While I love having an audience with appreciation for my work, I'm afraid you're making quite a mess of my home!"

At once, the wind and rain stopped, and receded back into the woman. "I'm terribly sorry about that, but I really did enjoy the song."

The Bard felt sorry for the woman, but he could not put up with the strangeness of the situation. "I must know," said the Bard, "who exactly are you?"

"Names," said the woman, "it's not something as natural as you people may believe. I've never really had a name, I just simply am."

"Then allow me to rephrase," said the Bard. "What are you?"

The woman smiled. "A spirit. A spirit of the storm. I come and visit this land quite often, but I've never heard music like what you've produced today."

The Bard retook his seat in opposition to the storm spirit. _A spirit of the storm!_ he thought. She looked quite beautiful, but the Bard knew he should be frightened of her. "I'm afraid you've caused my people a great deal of trouble. When you visit too often, the plants we raise for food drown, but when you are missing for too long, the sun withers them into uselessness."

"I am sorry," said the spirit sadly, and she did look genuinely regretful. "I have never wished to harm anyone, but I cannot control my nature. The winds determine my path. I am powerless to help you." She looked down and drank more of her tea.

The Bard took pity on the storm spirit. "In any case, I am glad my song has made you happy today. Perhaps when you come around again, you will remember me, and I can play for you again?"

"Yes," said the spirit. "I would very much like that. However, that is not this day. Already I feel myself being compelled to move on from this place." She finished her tea and handed her cup to the Bard. "I must be moving on. Thank you very much for the song."

As she rose from her chair and headed towards the door, the Bard called after her, "It's been a while since you last came around these lands, so on your way out, if you could give just a bit of extra rain to the fields in the area, it would make life easier for us."

The Spirit gave the Bard a smile, and opened the door. With a bright flash, she disappeared. The Bard stepped outside. It was raining.

The Bard smiled.

End of Chapter 1


	2. Forces of Nature

The Song of Storms

By the Storyteller of Nexus

Chapter 2: Forces of Nature

The Bard sat upon the edge of a cliff, overlooking the fields that surrounded his village. Although his cliff was high, it was only at the beginning of a massive chain of mountains that sealed Hyrule off from whatever lie further to the north. From above, he could hear the wind coming down the mountains. The wind was what brought him here.

It had been some time since the Bard had been visited by the spirit of the storm. Occasionally small rains would pass over the land, but he knew it was not her. They did not have the same ferocity, the same power that so inspired him to create her melody. He cherished that melody, but he believed his work was not done. The music was a poor imitation of what he had imagined that day in the storm, and he knew his harp was incapable of producing the sound he needed to truly bring the song to life.

"The winds determine my path," he remembered her saying. For that reason, he resolved to capture the sound of the wind for his music. He put his harp away and pulled a new instrument, a special flute of his own design from his satchel. It was small, about the size and shape of a potato, and made of hollowed wood. One end featured an elongated piece, where he could blow air into the instrument, while the sides were lined with small holes he could cover with his fingers to alter the pitch of its sound. This was the fourth such instrument he had created, and the first one that he felt captured the sound he was looking for.

The Bard listened to the wind, and began playing the flute. As a high gale screamed from above, he played a high note, and as a low whispering wind blew through a valley, he played a low note. It may not have been entirely perfect, but the Bard had recreated the sounds of the wind to his satisfaction. He practiced his new instrument for some time, and then decided to take the rocky trail back down to his home.

–

For the next few days, the Bard played his flute outside his home, while watching the skies for any indication of incoming dark clouds. The people of his village would come listen to him play, having never heard the sounds of his new flute. The Bard played many different songs for the village people, but never her song. Only on his cliff, away from all ears did he dare to practice her song.

Then a day came when dark clouds appeared on the horizon, and raced across the sky to hide away the sun. Rain fell upon the fields and the village, while the Bard watched hopefully. Lightning struck a good distance away, followed by a booming clap of thunder. The Bard knew it was her.

A torrential rain poured down upon him, but the Bard waited. People from the village ran for shelter into their dry homes, some yelling after the bard "Are you trying to catch your death! Get inside!" But still the Bard waited. When he felt at last the center of the storm was upon him, he produced his flute and began playing.

For a moment, the rain seemed to drop off, at least in the area surrounding him. The notes of the flute rang clear in the still air, seemingly louder than he would have believed. For a moment, the world seemed entirely peaceful around him, while just a few fields over, the sky continued its downpour. Then a massive bolt of lightning struck the earth, and knocked the Bard to the ground. A small pale hand appeared above him, and helped him to his feet.

She was almost just as the Bard had remembered her. Her gray, damp robes, her icy-blue hair. Even the clouds of mist still surrounded her. The only difference in her appearance the Bard could discern was that she was smiling, something she had only done once the last time she had visited him. Her face was much more beautiful when she smiled.

"You were waiting for me," she said in her familiar airy voice. "All the other people went into their homes, but you stayed outside."

"I felt it was appropriate that someone greet you," said the Bard, a little red in the face.

"Your song," she said, "It was different. The melody was the same, but the music sounded different. It sounded more... familiar."

"I would be happy to talk, but I think we should go into my house. The people of this village might not understand why a spirit of the storm has stopped for a chat with me."

"Yes, much of your kind has no imagination," said the spirit of the storm. The Bard led her inside. She had not let go of his hand.

–

The Bard began boiling water for tea, feeling it would be rude to not offer the same hospitality he had on her last visit. The spirit sat in the extra chair at his table, gently humming the Bard's melody to her self.

"It has been some time," said the Bard, retrieving his tea cups. "I was beginning to wonder if I had only dreamed about meeting you before.

"Perhaps you did," teased the spirit. "Maybe you are mad."

"Then here is to madness!" replied the Bard, handing her a cup of tea, and then raising his own. "Cheers!"

She raised her cup in imitation of the Bard, and then began sipping the tea. "I did not know when I would return," she said. "I remembered what you said about your crops, so I encouraged my sisters to come see your country. But they are not as strong as I."

"The farmers are thankful none the less I am sure. So what made you come by this time?" asked the Bard.

"For the last few days, I have felt something, almost a compulsion, to visit the mountains north of your village, to walk and glide through them. I thought I would just be passing through your village, but then I heard your song, and lost all desire to continue any further. Would you... mind playing it again for me?"

The Bard smiled. He put away the tea set and produced his flute. He put it to his lips and began to play. Once more, the sound of the song seemed to put her into a trance, as mist filled the house and small cracks of static popped in the air. The Bard continued playing. He had thought to place anything that might be vulnerable into a sealed chest.

The song continued, and she became more entranced. Her hair began to billow upwards, and her eyes lit up with small flashes of lightning. When the Bard finished playing, she was on her feet.

"I'm glad you like it," said the Bard happily.

The spirit said nothing. Instead, she came close to the Bard, put a hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him passionately. The Bard lost himself in the kiss, dropping his flute. He had never felt such energy and passion as he did then. It was a perfect moment.

The spirit pulled out of the kiss and looked the Bard in the eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, and leaned forward again.

A massive burst shook the side of the house, startling the Bard and the spirit

"What is going on?" asked a shaken Bard.

"That was not me!" exclaimed the spirit.

A second burst hit the front of the house, blowing the door out of its frame. Then an unnaturally tall men stepped through the open doorway. He wore very pale green robes, and had a white beard that reached to his waist. On his left hip he carried an enormous longsword. On his face we wore a look of absolute fury.

He shouted something in a language the Bard could not understand, and the spirit of the storm yelled angrily back at him in the same language. Then he turned towards the Bard, and drew his massive sword.

"What manner of mortal are you? You seek to wrest control of nature from those appointed to guide it?" demanded the strange man. The Bard did not know what to say. The man swung his sword, and an unseen force blasted an entire side off of his home.

"YOU WILL ANSWER ME, MORTAL!" he screamed, pointing the sword at the Bard's neck. The spirit of the storm leaped in front of him.

"It was not his choice, it was mine!" she pleaded.

"You are a liar, and your friend is a fool," said the strange man. "You only could have been called to this location by the wind's summoning. MY SUMMONING!"

"Did... Did not know..."stammered the Bard. "Please... do not hurt... her..."

The wind spirit laughed. "You are worried about her? This is YOUR fault, mortal!" The wind spirit saw the Bard's flute on the ground, and immediately it flew to his hand. "You try to steal my powers, with this toy. This fragile plaything?" He clasped his hand around the flute, and it began to crack. "The wind is not your play thing, and it is not your power. It is mine." The flute crumbled into pieces on the ground. "None may command the storms except for me."

He looked over to the storm spirit. "Come," he demanded. "We are leaving, and you will not return within his lifetime."

"NO!" screamed the storm spirit. "Without me, this land, all of its people, they will all die!"

"Yes. Yes they will." The wind spirit then grabbed the storm spirit by the waist. She kicked and shouted, but could not over power her captor. With a final burst, the wind spirit crashed through the remaining side of the Bard's home and they both disappeared.

The Bard stood in the rubble of his destroyed home. It seemed like a grim prediction of things to come.


End file.
